His Lips Were Like The Galaxy's Edge
by astoryaboutchloe
Summary: This isn't your typical love story. Not even a bit. This is the tale of when a human hurricane Chloe meets her cyclonic match, Zak Bagans.
1. Chapter 1

Everyone has those stories.

You know, the one where a beautiful man takes your breath away and in that moment he realises you're destined to be The One?

Of course you do - we've all heard them endlessly. Heck, I hear them from my girlfriends any given Sunday as we sip coffees that eventually turn cold whilst we sit and dissect our disastrous dating lives. Or maybe it's just my dating life that's plain disastrous. I've never really been one to be all that fussed about whether or not I'm in a relationship as, quite frankly, I've always found animals far more interesting than humans. Thanks to my profession however, I've never had a shortage of men trying to get into my pants. No. Before you ask - I'm not a stripper. My mother would kill me.

Yet all that aside, I've never had that one wonderful story to call my own. It just never works out for me. Somehow, I effortlessly remain the most awkward human on the planet, and in the process, scare off any chance of red-hot romance through my own goofy behaviour.

So don't be fooled. This isn't your average love story, if I'm involved. It's more a series of unfortunate, ridiculous events that led to where I am today.


	2. Chapter 2

As I rolled over in the enormous king size bed and flung my gangly limbs about, I instantly became aware of two things:

The sun blasting through the curtains that I had forgotten to close the night before; and the fact that it was barely 7am and far too early for me to be awake.

My ears were still ringing dully from the club, as I fumbled about groggily trying to locate my phone. _Which city was I in now? What time was my driver picking me up? WHY THE HELL AM I AWAKE?_

My phone is blinking angrily at me, crying out for attention with what surely seems like an insane amount of notifications. _Do I even know that many people to leave that many messages? Did I go on a drunken Twitter rant last night or something?_ My brain feels foggy, and every movement I make is slow and clumsy.

A DJ's body clock can be a cruel beast, and mine was proving no different right now. Instead of allowing me to gather my wits & grab a few more precious hours of sleep, instead I find myself pacing a foreign hotel room, craving watermelon juice, with long lost beats still running through my mind.

Moodily pulling the curtains closed, I run my hands through my wild blonde hair and contemplate climbing back into bed and hibernating like a cranky cave bear. But I know my body too well. Now that I'm awake, it's futile hoping to get back to sleep, so I pad lazily into the large, marble bathroom.

At least the promoter has taken proper care of me since the disaster with the previous one in Canada; my hotel suite is positively palatial. I could throw one hell of a party in here and the bed is big enough for 5! I laugh at the thought of myself sharing a bed with anyone, something that has not happened in months. Not that offers haven't been forthcoming but no one has even remotely made my standards and I'm not the type of girl to just welcome any Casanova with pretty eyes into my bed. Well, that's not _strictly_ true I guess. I've definitely been persuaded in the past by a few blue-eyed wonders but I'm reformed if you will. On an extended hiatus from bad-boys. Single me is determined me, I'm not in the right headspace for tall, dark and handsome distractions.

The moment I glance in the mirror and see a scruffy, blonde mop flopping over my high cheekbones, and my green eyes creased with sleep, I'm thankful that I'm alone with no one to see me in this state. Never mind the fact that I'm a grown adult wearing Spongebob Squarepants pyjamas. "Geezus, girl. You look like hell" I say outloud to myself, wishing that I had bothered to remove my makeup last night before I passed out. What a hangover. _Los Angeles, you've really done a number on me_.

Drunk me is also a bit of jerk, as it appears I came home last night & strew the entire contents of my gig bag across the room. I'd really love to brush my hair, but lord knows where my hair brush is. Or my toothbrush. I really do need supervision.

But don't take all my doom & gloom musings for me being unhappy. Oh no, not at all! I'm so unbelievably proud of where I find myself - across the other side of the world, actually being paid to do what I love best. I'm just tired. So so tired. And maybe a little cranky because I'm hungry. And obviously incredibly useless at remembering to introduce myself. It's honestly a miracle that I remember my own name half the time.

Hi, my name is Chloe.

And I'm one exhausted DJ.

Today I find myself hungover in Los Angeles, after having played closing set last night at Avalon. I'm not even sure what time I stumbled home this morning, but looking over my itinerary that sits in a crumpled pile next to the hand basin in the bathroom, it quickly tells me that there's no rest for the naughty.

I, Chloe Harrison, am off to the next stop of my tour. Vegas.


	3. Chapter 3

Before I know it, 10am has sprung upon me & I'm being ushered out of the hotel lobby to a waiting car by my manager, Tommy. Honestly though... who created 10am as a check-out time in hotels? They must really despise other human beings.

A short, slightly harrassed, shadow of a man, Tommy is my manager, my confidante and more often than not, my verbal punching bag. What he lacks in stature, he more than makes up for in shrewd business acumen and being a damn fine friend. He's come to my rescue, literally and metaphorically, more times than I can count and yet has never told the tales of my shenanigans to my mother. He really would have enough on me now to blackmail me for the full term of my natural life. But he doesn't and I worship him for it.

He's supported me through my days as a small town DJ playing crappy bar gigs to 10 people, to where I am today; playing proper international club sets to thousands. And in all the years that we've been thick as thieves, he's never once tried it on with me. That, ladies and gentlemen, is a sign of a good man.

Pulling his flat cap up from hanging down over his furrowed brow, Tommy casts his all-too-knowledgeable brown eyes over the sorry state I'm in and emits a low whistle.

"Wow, miss. You really did a number on yourself"

"And I see you're a comedian today" I wearily mumble in response, before climbing into the back seat of the town car he's arrived in and gratefully accept the bottle of water he offers me.

"Now now, Chloe" he scolds good naturedly. "We're off to Vegas today. I thought you'd be a little more cheery"

For the first time today, I lock eyes with Tommy and beam a genuine grin from ear to ear. "Actually, I am! I'm just wishing that I wasn't so well looked after last night. All the free vodka really took me for a ride!" I laugh.

Tommy laughs in agreement. "But I forgive you anyway" he says. "We got wonderful feedback on your show, the crowds here really like your sound"

His words tickle me pink, and I try not to hug myself in glee. The crowd last night HAD responded joyously, that part I remembered. There really was nothing quite like stepping up in front of thousands of people, their expectant faces beaming up at you, and watching them all dance uninhibited to electronic music. Moments like that I remember why I'm a DJ. And it makes the lonely hotel rooms, long stays away from family & all that travel almost worth it.

The rest of the trip out passes in a blur. Without Tommy poking and prodding me into action there is no doubt in my mind at all that I would have missed my flight. I don't mean to be so unorganized or so wholly reliant on someone else... I secretly like to think that I'm a bit of a hard ass and could hold my own. But the truth is, the moment I'm out of Australia I become an anxious wreck and a complete scatterbrain. See what I mean about Tommy being my rock?

After an uneventful flight that I catnap most of my way through, Tommy has me settled in my suite in Vegas just after lunch time & the vodka haze has slowly started to lift. I'm almost feeling human again! Although my green eyes are still a little bloodshot and my lack of sleep has me looking pale under my tan. Trust me though, this is nothing. I've certainly looked worse before.

After taking yet another shower, and yet another change of clothes, we're bundled off into yet another town car & headed to the nightclub Hakkasan for afternoon soundcheck. My palms are already beginning to sweat with nerves and I've not even stepped inside the building yet. I pray to a god that I'm not sure I believe in to get me through this meeting with the promoter without embarrassing myself, or poor Tommy for that matter. Although he's wearing his best poker face, I know that he's nervous for me & is trying to stay calm for my sake.

"Stop" Tommy says gently, taking my cold, clammy hands in his. "You're driving me nuts with all your fidgeting and you'll only make me nervous too"

"Shoosh you" I say defensively, swatting Tommy's hands away.

I try to calm myself by sitting on my hands and trying to give myself some kind of motivational pep-talk but nothing's working. Normally I savour car trips as my own little quiet time and I use them to catch up on some sleep. But not today - I'm too hyped up and have the attention span of a squirrel on crack.

I'm like a small child as the town car weaves through mid afternoon traffic; I'm pressing my face to the glass and trying to drink in as much of the scenery as I can and I'm squeaking in delight at some of the more interesting characters we pass on the sidewalk. I'm also vaguely aware that my mouth is hanging open in awe, but since Tommy has seen me in much more embarrassing states I'm not inclined to care all that much.

Once inside the, quite frankly, utterly incredible MGM Grand, I find myself in my idea of heaven: Hakkasan. I naturally find myself wandering away from Tommy instantly like a naughty puppy at the dog park and gravitating to the custom DJ booth, and suspended performance platform, all enveloped with floor to ceiling LED screens. The music nerd in me is rendered speechless as I take in the opulence around me. Countless superstar DJ's have graced these desks and now a short, nervous Australian girl will be stepping up for her moment to shine tonight. "Fuck" I swear quietly under my breath. "You really can't stuff this up". I catch myself nervously chewing at the cuticles on my fingers with anxiety.

I'm brought sharply out of my thoughts by Tommy striding confidently into view, with who I recognise from photos as my American booking agent / promoter Anton. Anton is a mid 30's, well preserved man of possible Italian decent. Attractive but too self-assured and arrogant for my liking. He wears his goatee like a symbol of pride and it's not lost on me the way his eyes skim over my figure in assessment.

Anton throws his arm out in a grand gesture and smiles at me wickedly. "It's impressive, eh!" he laughs.

"Indeed!" I say, suddenly feeling shy. This is all really rather overwhelming and I'm already starting to panic about tonight. _What if they don't like me? God I hope I can remember what to play. "_I'm Chloe" I offer, extending my hand.

"And I'm Anton. I hope you're ready for a big night!" he beams, looking pleased with himself. "You'll be closing this stage tonight after our headliner"

I gulp nervously and take another sweeping look of the venue. Running around setting up the VIP bars and booths are countless unnamed staff, each rushing with an air of urgency to get everything prepped for the evening ahead. I'm acutely aware that I'm blushing an unattractive shade of red, yet I feel a cold sweat on my forehead. _Hell, I'm really nervous. Am I going to be sick?_

Finally after what seems like an eternity. Anton gives the go ahead for me to test the sound system & play a few tracks. I step up into the daunting, yet thrilling, DJ booth and take a few deep breaths. "You've been doing this for years" I tell myself sternly, as I slip on my headphones and cue up the first track. 1,2,3,4... Cue, cue, cue, PLAY.

Within minutes, I'm lost in the music. The bass booming from the large booth monitors wraps itself around me, and for a few moments, I happily watch the moving heads flash their lazer lights in time with the music. _I can do this._ I've always had a touch of anxiety and it has lingered with me through into adulthood. I've been teased in the past by other DJ's for not looking up from the mixer for the first 10 minutes or so of my set and I'm very much aware it's the one dead giveaway of my nerves. However, one or two mixes later when I remember that I'm actually good at this, I'm like a different person. I laugh, I smile, I dance and I engage with the crowd. Sure, there's no crowd here right now. I'm in an enormous nightclub in the middle of the afternoon with less than 10 other human beings but I still glance up from the mixer and smile as I flawlessly execute a smooth blending of 2 tracks.

Through the bright lights, I peer up onto the dancefloor and am confused by the shadowy frame of a tall man lurking at the edge of the dancefloor. Obviously not poor short Tommy and way too muscular to be Anton. He has one hand raised to his brow like a visor, peering at me, the other waving for my attention.

Confused, I lower the fader and the music dulls around us. I have this chilling feeling of familiarity and yet, he's quite clearly not someone I've met before. But his wide shoulders, tapering down into lean hips encased in baggy jeans somehow resonate something in me. Maybe it's just that he's got the kind of build that always makes me stare for a moment - broad shoulders, sculpted biceps and a flat tummy that looks like it would _definitely_ have a six pack hiding underneath that black shirt.

_God, stop staring Harrison_, I subconsciously reprimand myself.

"Hey!" he says loudly, with a smile.

I go to respond in kind, but before I get the chance to, I hear from behind me "Hey, dude! I was just about to call you!" and Anton bursts from behind the DJ booth.

_Oh_.

_Well that could have been awkward_ I think to myself. This stranger was clearly NOT even talking to me. God forbid I had answered him in my fake cheerful voice. You know that one we all do when we're caught by surprise or trying our hardest to be friendly to strangers and puppies? Yeah saved by the bell on that one.

Mr Mysterious steps further into the middle of the dancefloor as Anton brings on the house lights via a hidden switch on the dancefloor. As the lights bring his chiselled face and spikey hair into focus, I feel my heart and stomach doing mutual back flips._ Oh now I really think I am going to be sick_.

Holy shit. That can't be? Is that...

No way.

Is that Zak Bagans?


	4. Chapter 4

His stance is demanding, his eye contact almost predatory. His arms are folded across his chest in a curiously defensive gesture that doesn't match with the sheer alpha male radiance he projects as he stands there assessing me.

I'm staring and I am totally helpless in changing it in this moment. My mouth feels dry and my lips are curved into an amazed O shape.

_Stop! Stop staring! Chloe, honestly! You're staring at him like you've never seen an attractive man before. He's not a zoo animal. STOP!_

He's a lot taller than what I imagined he'd be from merely watching him on TV. And so... _muscular_. I can hear my heartbeat pounding in my ears, as adrenaline courses through me, my green eyes locked on his dark blue ones.

And then, just like that, he blinks and turns away - spell broken.

I haven't even managed to string together ONE full word, not even the most basic of greetings, "Hi". Nothing. I feel sheer panic rising up in me, clawing at my chest, making my hands shake. No, this can't be happening like this. I was going to say something witty, dazzle him with some kind of conversational wizardry, show off my impressive vocabulary... Anything! I'd never once in my wildest dreams actually figured that I'd get to be in the same room as him, let alone make eye contact. And now I've blown it by standing there staring like a total mute.

I groan and cover my face with my hands, my elbows resting on the bench holding the mixer in the booth. I've blown it. I raise my head slightly and peer through my fingertips and see him & Anton sharing a blokey hug; those big exuberant hugs guys do with far too much cheer & loud slapping of each other's backs. Almost like a primitive ritual.

Just like that I watch in horror as Anton guides Zak from the dancefloor and they disappear from sight and I'm left standing in the DJ booth feeling utterly deflated. I'm done here for soundcheck, I decide and quickly slip my headphones back into their protective case and eject my USB's from the CDJ's. I sweep a glance around the cavernous dancefloor in an effort to locate Tommy but he's conveniently wandered off too. I feel an inexplicable gloom settle over me and I am pissed off with myself, as I've got no right to feel this way. I'm not anyone, so it's not like Zak owes me a thing. I think I'm just more devastated that I didn't even say hello, instead I just stared at him completely dumbstruck. I'm a big believer in first impressions and I was horrified with the one I'd just dished up for Zak bloody Bagans.

And now all I want to do is get out of here.

"Tommy?" I yell, listening to my voice bouncing off the gilded walls.

"Here, Chloe!" I hear Tommy's muffled tones, as he peers around from another corner of the bar. "Everything ok?"

"Yes" I say a little too quickly, attempting to project calm and happiness. Tommy is just too sharp though and after one swift glance at my flushed cheeks and distracted demeanour, he gets straight to it. "Oooooh man, it's worse than I thought!"

"What is?" I snap, putting my hand into the middle of his back and pushing him in the direction of the exit. "I want to go now, please"

"You have a crush on Anton's TV star mate, don't you?"

"Me?" I scoff. "Hardly. I didn't even get introduced, one can hardly develop a crush on someone that rude"

But Tommy has this smirk pinching at the corners of his mouth and I know he's not buying my cool and collected routine one little bit. "Ok, ok!" he laughs, raising his hands in mock surrender. "That's cool, Miss C. I get whatcha putting down there! So you're obviously not going to care one little bit then that he's booked the VIP tables right next to the DJ booth for tonight?"

I stop dead in front of the elevators and allow my eyes to bore into Tommy's. I'm not sure if this is part of his devious scheme to wind me up (I'm sure he just wants me to confess to having an enormous crush) or if he's telling me the truth but I swear my stomach just dropped to my feet.

I can't catch a break, I swear. Sometimes it's as though my life has delivered me a superb cast, but I'm yet to figure out the plot and where the hell it's taking me.

"Why would I care?" I retaliate, dealing Tommy a cheeky punch to the upper arm. He quickly delivers one straight back. "Oh. No reason" he retorts. He's definitely pushing my buttons right now for a reaction.

I feel an attack of the cranky coming on quite swiftly and all I want to do is retreat back to the relative safety of my hotel. I'm now feeling utterly bamboozled with this new information that Tommy has setttled on me and I really need to pull myself together before my set tonight. I don't know whether I want to shower, eat, sleep or maybe take a swim in the hotel's pool but anything would be better than lurking around here any longer. Maybe I should Skype my best friend, Belle. I glance at my wrist watch, which I have set to local Las Vegas time. 3.30pm Saturday. Screwing up my forehead, I mentally calculate the difference in timezones. 10.30am Sunday. With any luck I'd be disrupting her beauty sleep, with some gorgeous hunk next to her from the night before! I smile wickedly to myself. Yes, that's exactly what I'll do.

"I'm just going to call Anton and let him know we've left" Tommy's voice breaks through my reverie.

Back inside Hakkasan, Anton reaches into the back pocket of his slim fit, skinny leg jeans and retrives his balefully bleating mobile phone, seeing the name of that DJ's manager flashing back at him. Undoutedly making outrageous demands now that they'd formally met.

"Sorry, dude. Just gotta take this" he says to Zak, answering the call as he does so.

Zak doesn't respond but merely nods in acknowledgement, scratching at his facial hair thoughtfully. What did Anton say that DJ's name was again? A tiny part of him felt like he should memerize it so that he could introduce himself later in the night to make up for staring at her earlier, but already he felt like that wouldn't be a wise move on his part when he knows Ashley will be clinging to him like an overly protective barnacle. He was starting to regret organising the VIP tables for her birthday night; this was starting to reek of a relationship and he could already feel himself withdrawing.

"What did you say that chick's name again was, man?" he turns and asks Anton as he hears him finishing up the phone call.

"Chloe" replies Anton, smirking.

"Don't look at me like that, dude. I totally burned her earlier, ya know. Not intentionally, mind. Was just zoning the fuck out. She one of your residents?"

"Nah, man. She's Australian" replies Anton, as though this answered everything. "And she's probably the only woman in Vegas you've not got your greasy mits on so hands off and give the rest of us a chance!"

"I didn't have plans to sleep with her" Zak replies truthfully. How could he possibly entertain thoughts of bringing in another woman into his life and doubling the drama when he didn't even know how to handle the one he accidentally seemed to be seeing? Not a fucking chance. Nope. Absolutely not. Not that this Chloe girl was bad looking, he didn't really remember what she looked like truthfully. In fact, he had this unsettled feeling nagging at him because she looked like someone he'd met previously. But from Anton's description, there's no way he could know this chick and Zak generally tended to remember attractive blondes when they crossed his path.

"So we cool to have the VIP tables?" Zak asks, wanting to get this over and done with. Anton was a good friend - they'd known each other since college days & Zak never felt bad calling in a favour such as this when he knew full well that Anton dropped his name when he wanted to talk himself up.

"Yep, all sorted bro. We'll go all out to impress your little lady, don't you worry about that. She'll definitely be thanking you later, you know what I'm saying" winks Anton, giving Zak a sly dig in the ribs. Zak knew Anton had always had eyes for Ashley, and the competitive streak in him feels a little smug that he came out victorious in winning her. But now the prize seemed a little tarnished & Zak was no longer bothered by Anton's sly remarks and casual flirtations with her. Ashley was just as bad in encouraging Anton, in the misguided belief that this would make Zak jealous.

"Alright. I'll be catching you later on then" says Zak, giving Anton a friendly handshake. "Gotta go get shit organised"

"Oh I bet you do" laughs Anton, watching Zak's tall frame walk away from him.

This was going to be an interesting evening ahead indeed.


	5. Chapter 5

Thankfully I'm staying really rather close to Hakkasan, so the trip to Mandarin Oriental takes almost no time at all. I'm grateful to not only be staying in a ridiculously lux hotel, but to be staying offsite from the enormous complex that is MGM Grand. I like being able to distance myself from work and I'm one of those strange people that enjoys car rides as I use them to clear my mind. It also gives me the excuse to wander about on the Strip, as though I'm needing to familiarize myself with the walk from the hotel to the club - which clearly Tommy would never let happen. My mother alone would have a bitch fit at the thought of me wandering the streets unaccompanied in a strange city. I know my limits and pissing off my overly protective mama bear is just more grief than I would like to deal with.

My suite in the Mandarin is incredible! Decorated in an elegant cream and brown palette with vibrant touches of gold, it screams understated wealth and luxury. The armchairs are piled with silk pillows and even the headboard of my enormous king size bed is mother of pearl. And don't even get me started on the view! Its simply like nothing I've ever seen. I stand in the floor-to-ceiling windows just staring, feeling guilty for leaving little grubby fingerprints over the spotless glass. I can't wait to see what this view, looking right down over the Strip, looks like at night. It positively gives me the butterflies. Or that could also be due to the fact that I've not had nearly enough to eat today.

There's even a television in the bathroom! You know, should I need to watch a chick-flick whilst soaking in the tub drinking champagne. That's what wealthy people do right? I'm sure that's what I'd do if I had that much money and time on my hands. Oh, and jump on the beds wearing my fluffy bathrobe naturally. Duh.

Let me tell you one thing about DJing and relying on promoters to book your accomodation - it's _extraordinarily_ hit and miss. I've clearly lucked out here in Vegas as Anton has something to prove but it's not always that way. Oh my god, it would make your skin crawl and your eyeballs itch to see some of the flea pits I've been booked into before. I'm not exactly reknowned for being bitchy, in fact I'm somewhat notorious for being _waaaaay_ too laidback about just about everything, but one thing I can't handle is dirty bedrooms or bathrooms. I'd rather stuff angry hornets up my butt than sleep somewhere unsanitary. That's just me, I can't speak for you. It's a non negotiable for Miss Chloe Harrison.

Slipping on top of the bed and folding my legs under me, I open my laptop and immediately connect to the hotel's wifi system. First things first - I gotta Skype Belle and get the whole Zak Bagans disaster off my chest. At least if nothing at else Belle can put it into perspective for me - probably by pointing out how utterly useless I am which is one of her favourite pasttimes.

By the grace of the gods after several unsuccessful ring-out attempts, Belle answers my video call on my 4th or 5th try.

Belle is another constant in my life and we've been friends ever since 7th grade. On that particularly fateful February morning, she called me "weird" and I retaliated by calling her a "freak"... and well, we just bonded. What can I say? It was meant to be. We've shared an awful lot together as two people do when they grow up together and when I'm actually home, I live with this wonderful being. Even though we're polar opposites in personality and in looks, we're like an old married couple. We argue fondly over who's turn it is to do the dishes, who should be taking the garbage out and who left the wet towels on the bathroom floor (she did. .time.) I'm also the ditzy scatterbrain who forgets her keys, wallet, phone on a regular basis and Belle is the ruthless writer of lists and organization and the prime suspect for forcing me out of bed at 10am when I only crawled in there at 5am. I simultaneously want to sell her into slavery and smother her to absolute bloody pieces with love several times a minute. She drives me insane, as indeed I no doubt do to her in return, but I could never be without her.

Frowning slightly through my screen, Belle answers my call with "hold your bloody horses, I was sleeping. Why the urgent Skype calling, is there a crisis?"

Laughing, I point out that it must be past 11am.

"It is indeed. And I pulled a you last night - I stayed out til 6am!" she reports to me proudly. "Hence why the curtains are still closed and I undoubtedly still have makeup smeared down my face"

"High definition panda eyes beaming through my computer screen" I confirm, thinking how much I miss her. "Where on earth did you end up last night?"

"Oh. Where didn't I go last night" she answers evasively, another skill of hers. "Where in the US are you again?"

"I'm in Vegas" I reply. "I can show you my suite by spinning my laptop around if you'd like?" I offer, sweeping my arms gesticulatively.

"Oh GOD NO" groans Belle. "No spinning. You'll make me retch"

"Good" I smile. "I have something to tell you" I confess.

"Who is he and was he a good lay?" interrogates Bell, pushing her white blonde ringlet curls away from her face and making me laugh in horror. "No wait, let me guess. Famous?"

"Yes" I laugh. "But there's no bedroom tales to tell of, I swear to god"

"You're lying" presses Belle. She must be leaning extraordinarily close to her laptop monitor now, as all I see is one grey eyeball peering through my screen. "TELL ME"

"There's honestly nothing to really tell, I think I exaggerated a little when I said I had something to tell you" I confess, hanging my head into my hands. "Oh Belle... it was HORRIBLE"

"Horrible is how my hungover belly is churning right now listening to you waffle on, I'm sure you're just being dramatic"

"No, it was horrible" I insist. "I met Zak Bagans and..."

"SHUT UP" shouts Belle. "No way, that dude from the show I won't watch with you because it's too scary?" interrupts my hungover best friend, chuckling. "Man, you've had a mojo for him forever!"

I can't deny that fact. I have had something of a raging crush on him since forever and I've tried on many many an evening to get Belle to watch Ghost Adventures with me under the pretense of it being a girls night in. But as she's the kind of person who gets spooked by pretend crime tv shows, like CSI Miami, there was never any chance she was actually going to sit through even half an episode without screaming and flouncing from the room in horror.

"Yeah, well I made a total asshat out of my self today. He was at Hakkasan coz somehow he knows the promoter who booked me and he just showed up out of nowhere!"

"And?" says Belle impatiently, sucking air through her teeth in irritation. "Is that it? Coz this is a really boring story if that's all that happened and you woke me up for this..."

"Well, that is kind of it" I admit, feeling silly. "He came in to see Anton, and I just stared at him. Not a glance, Belle. I stared and stared and didn't even say a single word"

The sound of Belle's deep belly laugh reverberates through my computers speakers, exacerbating my embarrassment. "OH CHLOE" she roars with laughter. "My dear dear Chloe, you bloody potato!"

"I probaby did look like a potato, actually" I agree, reliving the horror in my mind. "I certainly stood there just like a potato. There's no way I can fix it now... and worse still, he's going to be at the club tonight!"

"Just get your boobs out. He'll talk to you then" smirks Belle, waggling a cheeky finger at me.

"Super helpful" I groan, covering my face. "I think it's going to take more than some implied nudity. I need you to help me come up with a way to remedy this, you're the most creative person I know!" I beg Belle.

"Welllllll..." smiles Belle slowly. "I might be hungover, but I'm not dead yet. I'll think of something"

Zak stands in his master bathroom, peering intently at the contents of the cupboard above the basin. Tampons? What the fuck? 3 different types of shampoo? 3? And some kind of fancy, expensive, perfumed moisturiser stuff.

His eyes scan the vanity top and rest on the small pile of usually inoffensive objects resting there. _Oh dear, this is serious_. Bobby pins. Bobby pins are practically a woman's way of marking her territory to warn other women off. And there they are - resting so casually in his bathroom. A bathroom he's always thought of as being ridiulously manly, from the chrome toilet to the dark steel shelves.

He runs his hands carefully through his hair and exhales loudly.

Ok, so Ashley has been slowly accumulating an absolute fuck tonne of things at his place. But they're all just essentials, right? Normal things one's fuck buddy may occasionally need, right? Right...

_I mean, it's not like she's left any clothing_. Zak strides out of his bathroom in several large steps and scans his bedroom quickly. Not that he's noticed any clothing lying around apart from his own discarded outfits. If anything. Ashley is some kind of clothing wizard and has an undeniable ability for making all his oversize hoodies and sweaters magically leave his apartment and arrive on her slim frame.

But wait... whats that? Is that black lacy bra draped over his lampshade? And matching pants lying abandoned on the base.

Zak walks over to his enormous bed and perches on the end, lost deep in thought. This was worse than what he'd thought. It appears that slowly Ashley has begun taking over his bachelor space without doing anything too brazen to raise his alarms and is infiltrating his life.

Zak flops backwards onto the bed til his back smacks the soft goosedown duvet and folds his hands across his chest.

_"It always ends up this way"_ he thinks irritably, staring up at the ceiling. He didn't sign up for this & now he was going to upset yet another girl. He hates this shit, he really does.

It always starts off so well - kisses snatched in the dark, the thrill of exploring a new body and her whispered frantic promises that this would be nothing more than sex. I mean they were having fun weren't they? And now, it came down to this again. Zak felt the traps of a relationship closing down around him and suddenly it was difficult to breathe. He shakes his shoulders, as though hoping this will clear the claustrophobic feeling surrounding him in the room. It's not that Zak is completely against the idea of a relationship, and it certainly had nothing to do with the misconception that he only viewed women as some kind of sexual object. He adored and respected women, yet he was always made to be the bad guy. But he wasn't the type of man to lead anyone on and if he didn't feel anything apart from lust, why string it along? Especially when it was evident now that she was hoping for more and maybe even harbouring feelings. He didn't want to feel the pressure of Ashley's expectations and the very last thing he ever wanted to do was hurt her, intentional or not. Making a girl cry always made him feel like the most lousy bastard on the planet, hence why he shied away from most women's affections and kept his private life so deeply private. And that's always how it ended, like a never ending loop.

The tears. The pleading. The promises of change. The promises that they'd be better. The ruined eye makeup and chewed bottom lips Anything to keep him. But it all just made him feel more empty and by the time these talks took place it was already far far too late. He simply didn't love these beautiful, eager women and he knew that he was never going to. Like ripping off a bandaid, it would always sting at first but he knew was better off without.

But it wasn't like he could call things off with Ashley tonight when it's her goddamn birthday was it.

"Goddamn it" Zak curses under his breath. "What a shitty way to feel"

Thanks to all the bloody mirrors in this swanky bathroom, I find myself over analysing my own naked body after my shower. I look at my short compact frame and my undulating curves. I'm certainly what you'd call an hourglass shape; big boobs, tiny waist, rounded bottom. I seem to have lost muscle definition all over my frame from the shitty food I've been consuming on the run, and look, there's my long Roman nose stealing the show on my face. I've always hated my nose since the day my hairdresser told me that I'd be a great "sunglasses model" with my "long, sloping nose", rendering me unbelievably self concious. I'm currently pleasantly quite (fake) tanned but my skin naturally is really pale. Not in a porcelain doll way, in an "I stay inside all day and never see the sun' type of way. My English heritage prevents me from ever being a naturally bronzed goddess, and DJ's are forever renowned for our blinding-white studio tans.

I do have my good points though. My tummy isn't bad, quite flat really and I have really large eyes with pretty dark lashes. I like my eyes but I'm not a conventional beauty. My nose is slightly too long, my cheekbones a little too sharp. But to compensate, I have bright green eyes, clear skin and thanks to my mother's genetics, I'm very busty.

Part of me says what it always says. And I always listen to that niggling inner voice. The part that says, well, since you'll never be spectacularly beautiful, you might as well eat what you like and dress to blend with the crowd. Nothing will ever make you feel or look like a Victoria's Secret model. But this evening there's another part of me that wants to be a bit different. Because being in the USA is different and Belle believes in me.

And could it really do me any harm to step away from my standard outfit of jeans and t-shirts and try to dress more womanly?

And what's one night outside of my comfort zone?


	6. Chapter 6

1.45am finds me as I'm loitering in the doorway of my hotel suite like a bad smell, anxiously picking at the cuticles of my nails - a habit I thought I'd long left behind in high school. It rears its ugly head when I'm particularly stressed or nervous and this was one of those times. I'm awaiting Tommy's knock on my door to signal our driver being here to whisk us away to the club and to possibly the biggest gig of my life and it's all I can do to stop myself from puking and passing out.

I intentionally bailed on having dinner with Anton and his promotion crew in an attempt to settle my nerves and thoroughly prep for my set but as I stand here now, nervously shifting my weight from foot to foot, I can't help but hope that I haven't committed a massive faux pas. Promoters always love taking you out to dinner and inviting 30 of their obnoxious mates who are all apparently your biggest fan but sometimes making small talk with total strangers really drains me. I know that sounds ungrateful but I'm a nervous wreck before shows and generally never eat anyway. I can't tell you how many times Belle has had to cook me something really simple like pumpkin soup just to get me to swallow one damn morsel. Even then, I often bring it straight back up.

I also left getting dressed to the very last second, lest I should bail on that too. But I'm really unsure of tonight's outfit and am now pulling at the tight fitting crop top, praying my boobs don't burst out of them. The cup that spilleth over, and all that.

At Belle's strict instruction, I'm now wearing a baby blue crop top, snugly fitted around my ample cleavage and showing off just the merest hint of slim waist, matched with a high waisted white skirt which travels down to mid calf length. I've teamed this daring outfit with a pair of white wedges to lengthen my legs, hoping to god that I don't look like a cheap Kardashian rip-off. I'm not comfortable in the slightest although I will begrudgingly admit that it does play my curves up to a tee and I certainly feel womanly if nothing else. I'd be rocking it if I didn't feel a little like a trussed up Christmas ham.

A sharp knock at the door brings me out of my reverie and I swing it open a little too enthusiastically to reveal a most bemused looking Tommy. I see an undistinguished emotion sweep across his kindly familiar face and for a moment he sucks in a deep breath as though to say something. But the moment quickly passes and he bites his bottom lip in undisguised amusement.

"Ready to go?" he questions, taking a look at my heels. "Are you even going to be able to walk in those?"

The man has a fair point. I generally resemble a new born baby giraffe whenever I attempt to wear high heels and I have this unsettled feeling that the chances of me falling and breaking my face tonight have sky rocketed since I put on this outfit.

"Please take my gig bag" I respond instead, choosing to ignore his taunts about my heels and swing the black DG bag towards his more sturdy looking shoulder with a slam.

"You've made one hell of an effort tonight" he says, not unkindly, swinging my bag onto his shoulder as we move towards the elevator. "What the hell is in this bag? Are you smuggling boulders again?"

I giggle and roll my eyes at him – his Dad jokes are a thing of legend within our friendship group. "Yes, boulders and a baby llama" I quip, pushing him into the waiting elevator as the doors open with a subtle hiss.

Just as one should never ask a lady her age, or rootle about in her handbag, one should never diverge the contents of their DJ bag. It's a thing of great myth and legend. Aside from all the obvious usual necessities such as headphones, laptop and back up CD's, it's a veritable mine field. Mine, not so much. But I know of other well known names who carry virtual pharmacies around with them and never ending supplies of condoms for late night trysts with their groupies. Not me, obviously…. I've never found groupies to be a problem as such. I don't even know if I have any and even if I did, knowing my luck they'd be girls anyway!

Tommy picks up on me anxiously gnawing away at my fingers and gives me a sharp rap across the knuckles as he scolds me.

"Chloe. Stop" he says firmly, pulling my hands to my sides. "You're going to nail this, I tell you"

I smile a tiny smile at him, one that barely tugs at the corner of my lips, skipping my dimples altogether. "I'm glad you have faith" I whisper, feeling the butterflies in my tummy somersaulting frantically. I think my pre-gig routine of nervously vomiting backstage might just make an appearance. Hey, if it's good enough for my future husband Harry Styles, it's good enough for me!

As we walk across the hotel lobby, I spot a ridiculously flamboyant limousine parked out the front of the hotel and a smartly suited young man waving enthusiastically my way.

"Seriously?" I quiz Tommy, gobsmacked. "A little over the top, no?"

Tommy laughs heartily, his hand in the small of my back guiding me towards the car gently. "Stop exercising that big mouth, Harrison, and get in"

It seems merely seconds later that we're pulling up at MGM Grand and I'm attempting to get out of the limo in a somewhat ladylike fashion. I suspect that faceplanting at the start of the night would do my confidence no good and plus, I'm wearing an unforgiving white skirt. Which is dumb really as I'm the messiest person I know. _What was I thinking?_

It may be 2am now but you wouldn't know it for the scores of people streaming through the building. It's as bright in here as the sunshine in summertime in Australia and everyone looks so… so… well, _jolly_. Is this normal or just a Vegas thing?

Suddenly a swarm of huge men dressed head to toe in black, wearing ear pieces as though they believe they're secret service agents, surround me and Tommy. Freaked out, my pupils fully blown in shock, I look towards Tommy in a panicked fashion as though we're about to die.

"Miss Harrison, we're here to escort you safely to the VIP section of the club" one of the man-mountains assures me, a small smile playing across his fierce features. I gulp looking up at him – he looks like he could snap me like a disobedient twig if I so much as looked at him the wrong way but not wanting to upset such a man, I meekly fall in step behind him. We're whisked through the staff only entrance and come out in one of the secret corridors behind the bar. I can already hear the deep bass bleeding through the walls, making everything around us rattle and I can feel my heart thudding painfully against my ribcage. It's taking all of my nerve not to drop my handbag and run out of there as fast as these daft shoes will allow me.

"You're being pathetic" my inner voice scolds me. "This is what you live for" I remind myself, feeling the way the music roars through my veins and brings a healthy pink blush to my cheeks. As much as I was terrified, I also can't wait to race up into the booth.

Security parts the crowd on the other side of the bar and I follow in behind their slip stream, a bemused look settling across my features as I watch people craning their necks to get a look at me and then, upon realizing I'm not anyone famous, turning sullenly back to their drinks. _Well, I'll show them won't I_.

The DJ currently tearing up the main room is none other than Scottish heartthrob, Calvin Harris. I could pick that tall, lanky, confident frame absolutely anywhere, even if his music blaring through the club speakers didn't give it away first. I've actually met this beautiful human on several occasions so for the very first time since landing in Vegas, I don't feel like a terrified lamb being led to slaughter. I have no idea how I've managed to pull off the ultimate coup by taking over from this divinely gorgeous man, but bloody hell am I going to rock it. Fake it til I make it.

"CHLOE! Of all the places we run into each other!" Calvin yells, swooping me into a huge, friendly bear hug.

"Hey" I breathe into his chest awkwardly, muffled by his long arms sweeping me into the embrace. I'm so bloody short next to him that I barely reach the height of his darn nipples, something which my perverted brain noticed the first time I ever met him.

"When you wanna go on?" he smiles at me, gesturing broadly to the packed nightclub.

"Not just yet" I admit shyly. "I'm not going to cut your lunch just yet" I giggle. Oh god, this is what he reduces me to. A blushing slush pile of giggles.

"Eh, whenever you're ready" he grins unfazed, before slipping his headphones back on & turning back towards the decks.

I'm not much of a drinker, contrary to popular belief, but bloody hell do I need a drink right now. There's no way I'm taking over from this god of a producer without a little something something to calm myself. The stronger the better, preferably vodka.

I turn to find Tommy to fulfill my request and as I do so, my eyes catch sight of the crowded VIP booths around us. And it's then that I catch eyes with him. Him. He of the awkward previous encounter.

Zak Bagans.

He has this way of staring that really rattles me down to the tips of my toes. He doesn't stare at you, he stares _through_ you and right now that's exactly what he's doing once more as though trying to analyse my deepest inner thoughts. A quick flit of motion to the right of him catches my attention and my eyes are drawn to a breathtaking blonde girl next to him.

I feel myself stiffen, I can't help it. Of course Zak Bagans has a girlfriend and of course she's going to have a name like Angel. Or Misty. Or Bambi. She's American, no doubt, an utterly flawless Heather Locklear clone with bronzed skin, a pale waterfall of long platinum hair, perfect laser-whitened teeth and the doe-eyed look of a beauty queen. You know the type – never swears, doesn't smoke or drink, eyebrows always perfectly shaped and raves constantly about the virtues of clean eating. Makes me feel fat just thinking about it.

I look down at my carefully planned outfit and immediately feel completely ridiculous. What on earth was I thinking? I should have known better than this, what a daft attempt to get Zak Bagans to even notice me when he's got what looks like a Victoria's Secret model latched fiercely onto his right arm. I feel as attractive as a dropped meat pie.

I look up once more, feeling defeated, to be surprised by the sight of Zak waving at me. I peer first behind me to make sure it's not another interaction he's having with Anton, but am pleasantly surprised to find no one behind me. Sheepishly, I wave back earning myself a thoroughly disgruntled frown from Miss Perfect.

Spinning on my heel, I grab my gig bag off Tommy a little more fiercely than I intended to and wrestle briefly with him for its possession.

"Whoa" breathes Tommy. "You look like you saw a ghost. Are you ok?" he asks, sliding a fatherly hand onto my shoulder.

"Fine" I snap, tugging away from him childishly. "Ask Calvin to play for another 5-10 minutes, distract him if you must. I'll be back"

And with that I storm towards the direction of the artist green room, my hands shaking with adrenaline and my breathing coming in ragged gasps.

In the safety of the woman's change room within the green room, I drop my gig bag from my shoulders and slide to the floor with my back against the door. "Ok, it's ok, you've got this" I chant to myself over and over again until I feel my pulse start to slow and my breathing returning to normal.

I'm a girl of massive indecision and as a result I'm a dreadful overpacker when it comes to travelling. Even if I'm just going away for one night, trust me to cram in a thousand outfits just in case. However just this once, I'm thankful for this as I unzip my gig bag and start pulling items out of it hurriedly. I never pack light and my gig bag is no different - there is always a back up. I feel the ache in my chest lessen as I pull out my favourite pair of leather pants, my Led Zeppelin muscle top and my black combat boots. Struggling out of the restrictive skirt and top proves completely ridiculous and for a moment I seriously consider calling Tommy to help cut me out of the outfit. I've never really recovered from the time that I had to be cut out of a pink tutu in high school, but I guess that's not a story for now.

Finally, I pull on the skin tight pants, lace up my chunky boots and pull the muscle top over my aggressively straightened blonde hair. My hair and makeup is way too girly for such an outfit, but prevents me from looking too gothic or emo. I almost feel sexy as I peer at myself in the mirror and see such a familiar version of me looking back. The muscle tee is cut dangerously low at the sides and a peek of my ribs and the white lacy bra I was wearing to match the crop tops shows through. Cheeky.

I grin, pulling stupid faces in the mirror to wind myself up.

"Chloe Harrison, you great big potato… stop puking and get out of that change room!" Tommy's voice barks hoarsely from the other side of the door, accompanied by a volley of knocking. "I know you're in there!"

"COMING!" I yell back, smiling to myself. Who was I fooling? I was never going to catch Bagans' eye, I might as well attempt to salvage what little self respect I have left and at least wow him with the one thing I can do particularly well – DJ.

I stride from the green room, grabbing the drink from the hands of Tommy that he offers me and down it all in nearly one swig. Time to get this bloody show on the road!

I sweep past the VIP booths and once again feel Zak's predatory gaze watching me but this time I don't give him the satisfaction of turning and looking. I'd be amazed if he even so much as noticed my complete outfit change, although by the perplexed look on Beauty Queen's face, she has.

I jump into the booth like a baby kangaroo and high-five Calvin excitedly. "Let's do this!" I shriek, buoyed up by my own sheer terror and nerves. I rip my headphones from my gig bag, slamming them around my neck haphazardly and pull my USB from my pocket, signalling that I'm ready to go.

Calvin graciously steps back to a thunder of roars, cheering and applause as I plug my USB into the right hand deck, cueing up my first track in my headphones. With my left hand, I backspin the left hand CDJ playing Calvin's last track and simultaneously hit play on the right hand CDJ and bring the levels up on my first track:

_Zak Bagans vs Praga Khan – In My Dungeon (Sami's Ghosts and Sprites Spook Mix)_

Zak's head snapped around in shock as suddenly the sound of his own voice boomed through the deafening nightclub speakers, bringing with it an unfamiliar bassline. Was this… was this his track?

Unfortunately Ashley had noticed too, and her fingernails dug into the firm flesh of his thigh through his dark jeans in a claw-like grip.

"What is this girl playing at?" she demanded, her left hand on Zak's cheek, swinging his face round to force him to make eye contact with her startling blue eyes. He could tell from the accusatory way she asked the question that she believed he somehow had something to do with this girl DJing.

"I'll be damned if I know" Zak replied irritably to her, turning away, but internally he felt his chest soar with pride. This was _his_ track, albeit a reworked version of some kind, and here it was being played after Calvin _freaking_ Harris. He knew his jaw was slack with surprise and he could feel the countless pairs of eyes from curious club-goers all turning towards him as they recognized his distinctive, baritone voice. Zak was uncomfortable with all the attention he was garnering because of it however, he noticed Ashley was absolutely in her element. Not letting her possessive little hand leave his thigh once, she was beaming from ear to ear at all the people trying to catch his eye and looked like the cat that had got the cream. Zak groaned internally – it was just like Ashley to make this moment about her.

He looked towards that blonde DJ who was now bouncing in time to the music and was momentarily stunned when she spun around suddenly and made direct eye contact with him, her eyes glittering mischievously and a smirk tugging at her pink mouth.

"Well played" he mouthed at her returning her smirk and gave her a double thumbs up. For his effort he was rewarded by the first full, complete smile he'd seen from her yet and was surprised by the effect it had on him. Not one to generally give much away, he found himself returning her broad happy smile before she broke the spell just as quickly as she cast it, turning abruptly away from him and back to the decks.

Curiosity suddenly flooded Zak's veins and he felt the old, scheming side of him start to swing into motion. He'd never had someone surprise him like that before with something so creative and he was genuinely impressed. He was dying to pick Chloe's brain about how she'd reworked his track, indeed he used to dabble in DJing himself, but he couldn't see any way of escaping Ashley for more than a second. He could tell from the heavy, dramatic sighs coming from his right hand side that his exchange with Chloe hadn't gone unnoticed and he was sure she'd find a way to make him pay for that later.

"She keeps staring at you" Ashley pouted, her full red lips drooping dramatically. "Stop staring back at her"

"I'm not, baby" reassured Zak falsely, rubbing his thumb briefly over the top of her hand that was settled on his leg. He'd do anything to keep the peace right now and if that meant playing up to Ashley, then that's just what he'd do.

"Good" smiled Ashley, battering her eyelashes at him thickly. "She's too chubby for you anyway. Now dance with me"

Every bone in his body screaming no, an angry muscle frantically ticking in his tense jaw being the only giveaway that he was furious, Zak allowed himself to be dragged onto the dancefloor by a thoroughly overexcited Ashley.

_Oh fuck no, come on…. Not right in front of the DJ booth…._

Zak's eyes deceived his mind and he felt himself steal a glance up at Chloe, an unreadable emotion flickering across her pretty features for only the briefest of moments as they locked eyes. He felt Ashley grinding seductively against his leg, pressing her skinny hips into his upper thigh and her pert breasts into his muscular chest. Infuriatingly though, as much as he'd emotionally checked out quite some time ago, he felt his body betray him and respond to the familiarity of Ashley's touch. He turned his back to the DJ booth and begrudgingly allowed the birthday girl her moment to dance all up on him.

I can't believe what my eyes are revealing to me right now. Of all the bloody places to dance in this enormous nightclub and Zak Bagans chooses to dance right in front of the DJ booth with his supermodel girlfriend. Is he trying to torture me or what? I didn't think I was obvious at all in my attraction towards him and now here he is, either flaunting what he already has or trying to make me jealous. Insensitive prick.

I take my mind off things by vigorously mixing in new tunes and gleefully watching the crowd scream and raise their arms enthusiastically to clap in time to the music.

_Yes, dance my little puppets_, I chuckle to myself. Now that I've been playing for at least half an hour, all traces of nerves and shyness has left me and I've become a right proper showoff. I'm interacting with the people in the front row, albeit ignoring Zak, and joyously reading the entertaining messages people are writing on their phones and holding up for me to read. The club has yet to show any signs of slowing down and the dancefloor is still as packed as when Calvin was behind the desks – quite the feat. Normally crowds leave in their multitudes once the headliner has left, so I must have been doing something right.

Grinning cheekily as I bring up my next track, _Chuckie feat Gregor Saltor – What Happens In Vegas_, I cast a quick look across to the spot where I last saw Zak, and my eyebrows knit in confusion as he's seemingly disappeared and nameless faces have happily filled the spot. Trying to play it cool, I swing round to quickly scan the VIP booth where I'd also spotted him previously, but that too is abandoned, just the empty vodka bottles littering the table. I feel a deep pit of disappointment gnawing away at my stomach and I try to shrug off the feeling that I would never actually get to meet this elusive man. I thought that surely reworking his track may have been enough to get an introduction at the very least, but as is typical with my life, nothing ever goes to plan. Swinging back to the decks, I get focused on blending my next track, ignoring the stream of people passing behind me into the DJ booth.

Anton had constantly been bringing into the booth a rowdy crowd of hangers-on, each of them wanting to be spotted by the crowd dancing below, each wanting their moment to feel superior. This was no different. I could see Anton's frame just to the back of the booth, laughing heartily and clinking the glass he held with that of a brunette girl with enormous fake boobs. I shook my head, laughing to myself and introduced my next track.

But the feeling that I'd totally been burned a SECOND time by Zak just wouldn't go away and I picked up my mobile phone and quickly swiped in the pass code. It felt a little seedy but maybe he'd posted something on Twitter… Maybe he'd mentioned my track? I quickly navigate to Zak's Twitter feed faster than was necessary and feel the full crushing weight of my disappointment come crashing down on me. Nothing. Of course not. _What were you expecting – glowing praise?_

I turn around to pour myself another vodka from the chiller behind me and as I do so, almost swing into someone standing perilously close to me.

"S…s…sorry!" I manage to huff out, using the thick buckle of his belt to push my awkward frame away from him in the opposite direction. Glancing up, I am completely frozen in horror as I take in the features of the man I just collided with.

"Oh hey there" grins Zak, offering a firm hand for me to steady myself. "I'm Zak"

"I… I… uhm… I know" I stutter, the words leaving my mouth before I can stop them.

_OH WHAT THE HELL AM I SAYING?_

"Oh god… I mean…Yes.. Uh... Hi, I'm Chloe" I ramble, my face turning a particularly horrific shade of red as I offer out my shaking hand as a form of introduction.

"So I hear" chuckles Zak. "Were you just stalking my Twitter?"


	7. Chapter 7

I feel all the air go whooshing out of my lungs, as though someone punched me in the belly, as the full implication of Zak's words hit my brain.

_Looking at his Twitter?_

_ . .God. Was he standing behind me this whole time and actually saw my little stalkerazzi moment?_

All the blood that exists in my body seemingly rushes to my face and neck, staining me an unfetching shade of fuschia, right to the very tips of my ears. And every word I've ever thought apparently decides to betray me also, spilling forth from me in a horrified torrent of verbal diahorrea that I'm helpless to control.

"You? Your Twitter? No no no no no... I wasn't looking at YOUR Twitter per say... I mean, sure, I was just on Twitter but it was mine y'know and maybe you just saw yourself pop up in my feed as I certainly follow you. Not in a creepy way, just a regular fan type way. I mean no, not a fan type way, just someone that really appreciates your work. Coz that's what I do, like I appreciate how hard you work to prove the existance of ghosts and..."

I'm cut off from my utterly insane ramblings by the miraculous, god-like appearance of Tommy, proferring his hand to Zak in greeting. If ever you were unconvinced that this man is a saviour, I ask that you refer to this moment.

"Tommy" he says, shaking Zak's hand firmly, Zak returning the greeting.

Daring to sneak a look at Zak through my long fringe, I see his eyes crinkled up with humour, his lips twisted into an amused little smirk. Not for one second has he believed my total shit talk - he's busted me and he knows it.

"45 seconds" he nods, his intense blue eyes locking with mine.

"Sorry?" I ask, perplexed, leaning in closer to hear him over the noise of the club. He smells amazing, just like I'd always imagined.

"You have 45 seconds" he repeats, motioning away from me.

"For what?" I ask stupidly, gracing him with the beauty of a blank look.

"Left on that track" he laughs, pointing this time to the decks in front of me, my eyes following his long fingers.

Gasping in horror I don't even answer him, I just spin wildly away from him and Tommy and frantically back towards the CDJ's. Well, if ever there was a time to just wing it, given that I now have less than 30 seconds...

But I can barely concentrate on the task at hand, such is Zak's presence behind me. Whether the man means to or not, he positively smoulders and even though he very clearly thinks I'm a complete dimwit I still fight with the tiny little part of me that desperately wants to impress him. The gods are on my side for a change and I somehow manage to execute a 30 second mix into the next track, turning triumphantly back towards Zak.

Laughing shamelessly at me, he offers me his hand in a high five and I gratefully slam my hand into his. "That was close, but you nailed it" he compliments.

"Welll..." I smile shyly, my hand burning with the heat from his palm. "I think you know it was pretty bloody close" and I give him the benefit of my full smile. For half a dizzy moment, we just smile at each other and I'm desperately trying to swallow the out of control fangirl cry that is rising in my throat. He's just... good lord... he's just so _gorgeous_.

"You almost got caught out there. Like you did before with my Twitter"

And there it is. He's openly teasing me now, a wolfish grin taking over his face.

"Fuuuuck man" I laugh, throwing my hands in the air. "It's really not how it seems" I protest, knowing that challenging him is pretty much pointless.

"So what was it then?" he smirks, towering over me as he challenges me with his eyes, drawing me in so that all I see is him.

But before I can answer, Tommy grabs me by the shoulders and turns me back towards the desks. "You, DJ. You, stop distracting her" he says in Zak's direction cheekily, waggling an authorative finger, leaving me flustered. Is that what that was? Distracting me? 'Cause I'm trying not to get too excited but that almost felt like flirting.

Did I just flirt with Zak Bagans? Oh wait til Belle hears this one. Belle's pretty little face flashes in my mind and instinctively I already know what she'll say - "but did you actually talk to him this time?"

Smiling, I can't help myself from turning back around the moment after I've brought up the next track, my body and eyes willing me to keep drinking in the sight of Zak just metres away from me. But my brief happiness is cut short when I turn to see Ashley now moulded into Zak's right hand side, her body pressed lusciously into him, his right arm slung casually around her hips. They are a perfect, beautiful match physically. Her, so waif like and petite. Him, so masculine and protective.

Our eyes lock and although her mouth smiles in friendly greeting, her eyes convey perfectly what she's really saying. Back. The. Fuck. Off.

But two can play this game and I've certainly not done anything wrong by merely talking to her man. Smiling disarmingly, I launch a full charm assault, smiling broadly and offering my hand to her in introduction.

"Chloe" I smile, taking her tiny, cold hand in mine. I smirk as I think t's impossible to be threatened by someone when you realize they have the hand shake of a dead fish.

"Ashley" she grimaces in return, whisking her limp hand quickly out of my grasp as though she touched something contaminated. "It's my birthday" she states as way of explanation, wrinkling her tiny perfect nose.

"Ooh, well Happy Birthday then!" I say with false enthusiasm, hoping it doesn't come across as insincere as it feels. "I hope it's been lovely"

"It has, with Zak here helping me celebrate" she finishes, smiling up at Zak besottedly, her hand running over his tummy.

I can't help myself and before I can put my manners back in, the words just sneak out. "Oh, I bet he's helping you celebrate alright" I smirk, leaving the sexual innuendo just lingering there in front of us.

I could kick myself. I'm not normally a snarky bitch and here I am, being a bloody sarky bitch. I catch eyes with Tommy and watch him stifle a horrified chuckle, pressing his face into the crook of his elbow. For his part, Zak doesn't react at all to my comment nor to Ashley's insistent affections. Poor Ashley has a face like a little smacked arse.

"I think we should be going" she pouts indignantly, tugging ineffectually at Zak's bicep. Whatever his thoughts on the matter, its like watching the shutters close down over his eyes.

"Sure" he simply responds, his voice devoid of any emotion at all. It's like looking at a different person, you'd never have believed that just moments ago he was almost flirting with me.

I go to say something, anything, but my eyes are torn away from him by the frantic blinking of the jog wheel on the CDJ. Motherfucker... I've got 30 seconds left again.

But the next time I turn around, he's gone. Just like that.

"Ouch" Zak groans, throwing his hands up to gently push Ashley away by the shoulders. "Enough with the biting for fucks sake"

She laughs a devious laugh, completely unapologetic, and leans back in to gently kiss the scene of the crime, giggling further as Zak flinches involuntarily as though prepping for another one of her onslaughts.

Leaning back into the soft leather seats of the limousine he has organised to take them home, an unspoken agreement hanging between them that they're heading back to his, Zak wraps an arm deftly around Ashley's shoulders, pressing her face into his chest, his other hand smoothing her hair. Anything to stop the cannabalistic chewing on his neck.

He knows what she's playing at, and he knows that his eyes will give away his anger.

"Zakky..." she whines in protest, her voice muffled by his shirt. "Don't try to mollycoddle me, I'm trying to get things started"

"You're trying to leave bruises on me, woman, is what you're trying to do" retorts Zak, pressing her more tightly into his muscular chest, almost pinning her there. "Now stay there and be a good girl"

"But it's my birthday" she whinges, wriggling in his arms like a puppy. Zak fights the urge to sigh in frustration - he's absolutely not about to let her know how tired of this he is. It's no longer cute.

Just make it through tonight. Just make it through tonight. Just gotta make it through tonight.

Slowly, surely, the gentle hum of the engine and the bottle of vodka she's drunk begins to take its effect on Ashley and obediently she folds her long tanned legs under her and rests her head sleepily in Zak's lap. "Sleep, baby" he croons gently, patting her hair reassuringly.

"Take me home" she mutters wearily, snuggling into him like a lithe cat. "Take me home"

4am is the loneliest time.

4am is when I play up most to the tortured artist persona.

4am knows all my secrets.

I'm alone again in my hotel suite, my ears still ringing from Hakkasan's mighty speakers, a trace of Tommy's aftershave lingering on my shirt from the hug he gave me goodnight just moments before.

This is the one part of DJing that I struggle with - the loneliness. I often wonder what it would have been like to have formed a DJ duo, at least then I would have had someone to share all this with.

Or even to have been in a relationship with another DJ and somehow coordinated schedules.

_You used to do that with Dom_, my brain reminds me, jolting me with a stab of longing that takes me by surprise with its severity.

_Oh 4am... why must you bring up Dom?_

Dominic. He of the gentle eyes. The knowing smile. The safe arms and the warmest hugs. And the only boy to have ever loved me and I have loved in return.

I always miss him, us, our relationship, when I'm alone like this at 4am.

But he's a DJ like me and a far more successful one at that and right now he's probably on the other side of the world. I don't even know where he is, it's been that long since we spoke last. We rarely go more than a few weeks. I stare at my phone in my right hand, my eyes unseeing. I toy with the idea of calling him - I know he'd be happy hearing from me and for just a moment, I close my eyes and remember how safe he makes me feel. The stab of pain hits me right in the solar plexus and I find myself sitting on the floor, cradling my head in my hands. I just miss him. Plain and simple. I'd curl up with him if he was here right now and I know I'd fall asleep content and secure.

There was no bitterness in our breakup and I think that's the reason for the lack of closure on my behalf. Maybe even his too. It's as simple and as complicated as two people following their dreams, the same musical dream at that, and it leading them in completely different directions. He chose one city to make his start and I chose another and my pride stopped me from ever chasing him.

I love this boy completely but I let go of the feeling of being in love with him quite some time ago. But I think that's the part that keeps me tied to him - knowing we had the ability to love and be loved. I know in all certainty that he is no longer in love with me either and there has been other women. Of course there has been, just as I have seen other boys. That doesn't mean I like the thought of him moving on, of course I don't. It's also why we continually drift in and out of each other's worlds at the drop of a hat - an old, past love tying us together and reaffirming our friendship.

And here I sit at 4am, on the verge of tears, my fingers hesitating over the call button on my phone.

My body is faster than my brain however and I flop backwards onto my back on the carpet as I hear the familiar sound of the long distance dial tone.

"Dom?" I whisper as I hear the call connect and someone answers.

But an unfamiliar female voice responds, not the deep, friendly voice I'd been craving so much.

"Who is this?"


	8. Chapter 8

I can't do it. I just can't bring myself to ask who this girl is answering Dom's phone. So like the chicken I am, I hang up abruptly and in the panic that ensues in my head and heart, I throw the offending item across the room.

I don't even know if my name would have shown up in his call register being an international call but now I just feel foolish. I panicked like a school girl and now I'm sitting here feeling lonelier than ever, knowing that he's giving it to someone else.

But the universe has other plans for me and as I sit on the floor contemplating my fate, I watch as my phone's screen lights up and it starts vibrating across the living room.

_Shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit._

Crawling across the floor slower than what is necessary, my pulse racing wildly in anticipation in contrast, I creep towards my phone. **Dominic**. Damn it.

"Heeyyyyyyy..." I answer hesitantly, twisting a lock of hair around my finger.

"Schmoe..." Dom drawls slowly, his voice thick with sleep. "Did you just call me then, Schmoe?"

I wince slightly hearing his nickname for me tumble off what I know to be his full lips.

"I did" I confess. "But it's probably late your time and I didn't mean to wake you. I'm sorry. I should have thought it through"

He chuckles deeply, the sound as familiar to me as my own laugh. "Naw... it's only 11pm here in Sydney, I'm just napping before my gig tonight. Where are _you_, babes?"

"Las Vegas" I answer, a little bit of pride making my voice crack. "Got the 4am post-gig crazies, you know how it is"

"I do, I do. I know that beast all too well. But are you ok, little one?"

I hate that he knows me that well, but then I rememeber that this is exactly why I called him.

"Yeah, I'm good, DomDom. I just panicked when someone, uh, answered your phone that wasn't you and uh, I hung up thinking it was a wrong number" I lie swiftly, wondering if he believes it at all.

He hesitates before answering and it's as though I can hear the cogs turning over in his brain. He doesn't want to tell me the truth for fear it may hurt me, but he doesn't want to lie either as he knows that will hurt me in the long run too.

"Sorry about Sarah" he finally speaks, his voice low and quiet, making me wonder if she's still in the room trying to overhear our conversation. "That wasn't cool and I should have told you earlier that I've been seeing someone"

"Dom, no. Don't be silly. You don't owe me anything remember" I say truthfully and really mean it. "You know I'm happy if you are, you don't have to explain girlfriends to me"

I hear a breath he'd obviously been holding whistle down through the phone. "You're too good to me, girl. I really do hope you're ok though, you're so far away right now"

I look through the floor to ceiling windows at the Vegas Strip glittering below me and for half a second, I press my face to the cool glass and wish he was here to share this with me.

"I'm fine" I answer truthfully. "I was just homesick for a moment. Now get back to your nap, bet you've got the 3am set"

"3am til close, baby" he chuckles and I know just the face he pulls as he says this. "Now get your ass to bed and stop calling random people at 4am"

"Ay ay, Captain!" I laugh. "Good night, Dom"

"Good night, Chlo"

Zak watches the girl writhing underneath him ecstatically, anticipating every familiar toss of her hair, every drawn out moan, every clench of her thighs.

Ashley is at her most beautiful in this moment - something he'd never admit to her but something he has absolutely no qualms in admitting to himself. Her eyes dilated black with lust, half closed, her full lips stained pink from the sharp nips from his teeth, her hair fanned out across the pillow - she is finally unbridled with passion, coming apart in his hands. If only she was this wild, passionate and carefree in everything she did, instead of being so bitchy, uptight and finnicky all the time. Would things have been different then?

"Zak..." she exhales in her little girl voice, bringing her hands up to twist through his hair, forcing his face back down to hers. "Zak, stay with me"

"I'm right here, baby" he responds on auto pilot, breaking her gaze and bringing his lips and teeth down to rake roughly up her exposed neck.

"You're a million miles away" she gasps, as he nips sharply at her pink, exposed nipple, rolling the bud harshly between his teeth causing her to squeal in surprise and pain.

"Am I?" Zak challenges, slamming the full weight of his body relentlessly against her again and again, taking her delicate throat roughly in his large hands.

"Yes" she protests, her chest heaving, terror making her voice tremble.

Suddenly something snaps in Zak and he looks down at the terrified girl beneath him, now aware that he is pinning her to his bed more fiercely than ever necessary and she's only tolerating it because of how she feels for him, trust radiating from her lovefilled eyes. Guilt floods his entire being and immediately he rolls off of her and onto his back, pulling her round on top of him.

"Ash... fuck... I'm sorry" he mutters into her hair, kissing her forehead lightly and allowing her to lay her burning cheek onto his bare chest.

"S'ok..." she mumbles into his chest, her right hand tracing light patterns on his left arm. "You just scared me is all" she admits, making Zak's skin crawl with horror.

"I'm sorry, Ash. Really. I don't know what came over me"

She merely shrugs in response, moulding her curves into the shape of his body as she lies on her side, cuddling up into the space underneath his right arm.

Through a sliver of the curtains that he didn't close properly, the first light of dawn is just starting to peak over the horizon and Zak feels weary down to the very marrow of his bones. He's not sure why he was just so physical with Ashley, his self control is normally much stronger than that and he's certainly never wanted to bring pain to a girl before. What even just happened? He glances down at her just now, her eyes are closed, her breathing deep. He's jealous of her ability to fall asleep anywhere, anytime, when he's always struggled with keeping 'normal' hours. Something that he'd be willing to bet that Chloe understands, a DJ's body clock is just as bad.

Chloe.

Good god, he didn't just think of that strange girl whilst in bed naked with Ashley did he?

_Geezus. Really gotta get your head checked, bro_.

Resigning himself to his fate, Zak leans back fully into the buffet of pillows in his bed, not bothering to move Ashley who's wrapped around him like a limpet and simply closes his eyes. May as well try to get some much needed sleep. Zak's no fool and he already knows of the battle that is bound to ensue in the morning light.

Sunday, glorious Sunday.

The one day where I resolutely refuse to wear pants for as long as humanly possible and reward myself for a gruelling weekend on little sleep by being a complete and total sloth.

I don't fly out of Vegas until the following morning and have told Tommy to not disturb me unless it's a total emergency. And by emergency, I don't mean one like the time that he bundled me out of a hotel room ridiculously early just so that I could catch a glimpse of his all-time crush, Britney Spears, walking across the lobby of the very hotel we were staying in. No, only genuine emergencies are acceptable on a Sunday. Especially if those emergencies include Britney Spears.

I stretch lazily in my enormous bed, reaching for my phone as a force of habit. But to my surprise, it's devoid of any notifications, texts or calls. I don't know whether to be relieved or horrified. Has seriously no one missed me or wondered where I am? Not even my own mother?

Lying on my back, holding my phone in my hands high above me, I complete a compulsory scroll of all my social networks, stopping to giggle at a status update of Belle's moaning about her horror hangover. But in my semi sleepy state, I lose my grip of my mobile phone and before I can react, it slips from my finger tips, crashing straight into my face.

Crying out in pain, my hands fly to my eyes too late to protect them and I feel an angry welt already forming where contact was made.

Fabulous. Bet that's going to look just great.

Dragging myself from my bed, I stumble semi-blind into the bathroom, reaching for the face washer to run it under cool water to press to my face as a cold compress. As I glace in the mirror at my reflection, I groan in horror at what greets me.

A black eye. I've given myself a bloody black eye! Tommy's going to shit kittens over this.

A flurry of hysterical giggles takes over me and I slide to the floor in the bathroom, delirious with sleep deprivation and horror. The laughter racks my body until I can barely breathe and finally I come to a complete stop. I pull myself to my feet and dare risk taking another look in the mirror.

Yep. Still black.

I'm going to need some serious makeup to cover this bad boy. God I can't wait to tell Tommy, he's going to kill me.

Moving back into the bedroom I pick up the bedside phone and dial the extension to Tommy's room. On the fifth ring he picks up and I am greeted to his overly cheery tones.

"Chlo! I was just about to call you actually. I've organised lunch this afternoon with Anton, seeing as we didn't catch him when we left the club last night"

I am temporarily mute with horror.

"Oi, are you listening?" questions Tommy, not used to my silence.

"Oh yes... yes.. I heard you" I say faintly. "Uhm, is there any way we can skip lunch?" I ask hopefully.

"Whhhyyyyyy?" says Tommy instantly, picking up on my hesitation.

"Well..." I start, before dissolving into laughter again. "I... uhm... I kind of have a black eye"

"YOU HAVE WHAT?" screeches Tommy, momentarily losing his cool. "How? No wait, stay there. I'm coming to your room"

Moments later, Tommy is letting himself into my suite with the spare keycard he always insists on carrying, and brushing my hair from my face like a concerned mother hen.

"How the hell did this happen between me leaving you this morning and now?" he asks, his brow furrowed with concern. "Did you sneak some boy in here afterwards or something?"

"Yes, Tommy and he belted me one" I joke lamely. "No, clearly not. It's a much less worrisome story, actually. I dropped my phone on my face"

"You dropped your phone on your face?" Tommy repeats incredulously. "Are you actually being serious?"

"Deathly" I say soberly, fighting the hysterical giggles that threaten to bubble over. "I gave myself a black eye with none other than my own iPhone"

"Chloe..." groans Tommy. "Are we going to have to wrap you in bubble wrap? Christ..."

"At least I don't have a show tonight" I attempt reassuringly, watching Tommy pace my suite.

"Thank goodness" he grimaces. "A black eye really wasn't the look we were going for"

"Eh, it'll be fine. It's not major anyway, I can cover it with makeup"

"Good. Then please go do so, we're meeting Anton in an hour" says Tommy, heading for the door. "I'll swing by shortly to get you".


	9. Chapter 9

Right.

Gotta cover up this black eye. Surely it's not that obvious is it?

Ok. So it's _really_ obvious.. And by really obvious I mean you could see it shining from Mars kinda obvious. In fact, I feel like I should give it a name, it's practically it's own entity by this stage. How does everyone feel about Trevor?

I've been standing in front of the mirror with the entire contents of several makeup cases spread out before me & I'm still not quite sure how to cover "Trevor" without:

a) looking like a cake face or  
>b) making it even more obvious than it is.<p>

I really need to emergency Skype call Belle for assistance but as it's 1pm here, it's a mere 8am in Australian time and I don't dare risk certain death for waking her.

Nothing else to do but let Amateur Hour begin!

I'm expecting Tommy to barge back in at any second so my makeup job is a little more haphazard than normal as I feel rushed, plus we're only meeting Anton so I'm not overly fussed. I carefully dab some green based concealer on top of my expensive Chanel foundation and am slightly mollified to see that it takes some of the angry red/purple out of the bruise. There's no chance I'm going to look beautiful today, so I make the most of what I'm working with. A quick sweep with some mineral powder to set & my eye really isn't looking too horrendous. I instantly decide to make oversize sunglasses my new must-have accessory, and pair them with a bright pink lipstick to draw attention away from my eyes. I don't do much with my hair aside from pile it all on top of my head in a messy top knot but at least it's tied back and out of the way.

Almost on cue, I hear the click of the door to my room opening and Tommy sweeps through into the bathroom with no warning.

"Tommy!" I scold. "I could have been naked! You need to learn to knock!"

Tommy freezes, raising an exasperated eyebrow at me. "You were dressed when I left, why would you suddenly be naked upon my return?" he reasons, ignoring my histrionics and sweeping an assessing eye over my face. "That eye looks better" he nods, apparently satisfied.

"Thank you, I did it all by myself. I named my bruise Trevor" I joke, ushering him out of the ensuite. I pause in front of the mirror in my bedroom, double checking my outfit. I'm wearing plain skinny leg black jeans, black heeled ankle boots and an oversize white t-shirt, so I'm casual at best and suddenly worried where Anton might be taking us. "Do I need to dress up more?" I fret, looking at the crazed pile of clothes spread across the room. I quickly grab a stack of chunky gold bracelets from the bedside table and thread my hands through before deciding to also accesorize with a long, gold necklace with a cross.

Tommy signals to his almost identical outfit, an ironic grin on his tanned face. "I think not" he smiles, waving a hand towards the door. "You, Trevor and I are matching aside from all that jewellery. Let's go"

Not long after, a handsome impeccably presented waiter is leading us towards a table on the outdoor patio at Comme Ça at The Cosmopolitan Hotel. The very French bistro has an extremely chic, upmarket Parisian feel - definitely aided by the views of the Eiffel Tower at Paris, Las Vegas straight across the street. I stop a moment to take it all in and for half a second I truly forget I'm in Vegas.

"A pretend Eiffel Tower!" I chuckle to Tommy, motioning with my arm to the enormous structure.

"Only in America" he smiles, already scanning the wine menu. Anton is yet to be seen, so I seat myself next to Tommy and happily start tucking into the bread basket the waiter brings over to start. I'm about to place a third piece into my mouth when I catch sight of Tommy staring at me.

"What?" I ask, a mouth full of sourdough, crumbs spilling forth onto the checkered table cloth.

"Anyone would think you've never been fed" he laughs, ostentasiously moving the bread basket out of my reach. "Try to have some manners and wait for the rest of us"

"Us?" I ask, but he doesn't reply.

Sighing petulantly, I pull my phone out of my pocket instead and start sending Snapchats of the pretend Eiffel Tower to just about every person I can think of. When I turn back around to show Tommy what I thought to be a particularly amusing photo I had taken of myself with several chins, I find Anton has graced us with his presence and is waving his arms around in a fashion that clearly indicates he wants everyone to pay attention to him. The flash of his gold Rolex is lost on no-one, certainly least the table of young girls watching him with thirsty eyes.

"Chloe, daaaaaarrrrlllliiinnnnggg" he purrs, enveloping me in a tight hug that smells of new money, enormous egos and Hugo Boss. "You were just ah-mazing last night"

Embarrassed, I grimace slightly before shrugging out of his arms, thanking him for the compliment and returning to my seat.

"I had a wonderful time" I smile at Anton. "Playing to crowds like that is pretty much my idea of heaven" I confess, sipping from a glass of chilled white wine that has arrived in front of me.

"I like to make ladies happy, that's my idea of heaven" Anton chuckles sleazily, looking at Tommy as though sharing a bro moment. I watch with amusement as Tommy tries to hide his horror and laughs a fake, jolly laugh in response.

"Oh yeah, all about the ladies" he finishes lamely, making me snort into my napkin with laughter as I try to pass it off as a sneeze.

Eyes watering from giggling, I brush my sunglasses up onto my head temporarily to dab under my eyes delicately with a tissue, lest my makeup should run. Instantly, I regret such a rash decision because the voice that booms at me is neither Tommy nor Anton.

"CHLOE! What the hell happened to your face?" Zak yells across the table, seating himself next to Anton and raising his sunglasses off his dazzling eyes to stare. Such a simple gesture makes me go from zero to heart-palpitations in 3 seconds flat.

I scramble to pull my sunglasses back down over my eyes and I lean forward to hiss across the table at Zak.

"Keep your voice down! It's just a black eye"

"Just a black eye?" he parrots back at me in disbelief. "Just a black eye! Are you being fucking serious right now? Who did this to you?" he demands, his eyes flashing with rage, looking between me and Anton.

"No, no no" I whisper across the table, raising my hands in defence. "No one did this to me. I did it to myself. Accidentally. Obviously"

"What?" says Zak, clearly perplexed. "What did you do that for?"

Exasperated, I throw my hands in the air dramatically, noticing that the volume of chit chat at the tables around us has dropped to a noticeable buzz. Great, people are talking about us. "I hardly did it on purpose! I dropped my phone into my own face"

Zak stares at me, his eyes boring right through me for a few deeply uncomfortable seconds before his handsome face screws up in laughter and a deep belly laugh erupts from him, causing Tommy and Anton to join in and diffuse the tension.

"Yes, I know how dumb that is. What can I say... I require adult supervision" I shrug, mortified. I find my hands toying with the stem of my wine glass, anything but looking up into the eyes of Zak although I know he's watching me again in his own predatory way.

"I think I should wrap you in bubble wrap" he remarks and the way the words spill from his mouth, so flip and casual, makes something in my tummy pool with liquid lust.

"You can wrap me in whatever you like" I mutter to myself, barely above a whisper. But I know that Tommy has inadvertantly heard me and he kicks my ankle under the table in response.

"Anyway I can't stay, as lovely as this has been" Zak says, pushing back his chair and rising again. "I suspect it's dangerous to be in your company anyway, if you give yourself black eyes god knows what you do to your friends!"

I pout in response and shoot him one of my best death stares. "Stay and find out" I needle him by raising my voice and am rewarded by him stepping closer to me, an amused smirk written all over his handsome face.

"As much as I'm into sadomasichism, I'm going to have to politely decline that offer, Miss Harrison" he says, towering over me as I lean back into my seat to look up at him. "Plus, I don't want to leave my car in valet"

"What do you have?" I ask, curiousity piqued. I can imagine a man like Zak having a big ol' muscle car and for a moment I am carried away on a fantasy buoyed by images of Zak in a pair of mechanics overalls, grease staining his cheeks and hands as he grabs me and... ahem...

"Ferrari. 458" he states simply. his eyes carefully watching mine for my reaction.

I nod in acknowledgement, trying not to be too impressed even though I am as I know that's the reaction he's looking for. I've always been a car girl, having been raised on BMW track days with the club my father is part of. "Nice. A few pretty ponies power that baby" I remark, again trying not to picture Zak behind the wheel of such a mean machine as I seriously fear become turned on in public.

"You have no idea" he laughs down at me.

"Well, actually I do" I retort, slightly affronted. "570 at my last count I believe"

It's Zak's turn to look impressed and once again he casts his critical eyes over me. "Well well well, maybe there is a few brain cells kicking around in there after all" he jokes lightly. "You're a lady of many surprises. Maybe I'll take you for a spin sometime"

Grinning, I challenge him straight away and I swear the air almost crackles with our electricity. "Maybe I'll hold you to that"

"We'll see. Here, this is for you by the way" he suddenly states, leaning over me to place a large package in a yellow envelope in front of me on the table.

Surprised, I look from him, to Anton, to Tommy to slowly back to him. "Zak, what's this?" I ask, hesitantly, noting it's bulky shape.

"You should open it" prompts Anton, a smug look on his face like he knows something I don't.

"Open it later" suggests Zak, before completely taking me by surprise and leaning in to kiss my forehead. "Catch you later, DJ Chloe" he says lightly, his breath fanning across my face, making my breath hitch in my throat.

I watch in bewilderment as he turns and walks away from our table, dressed all in his signature black, his broad shoulders casting the most wonderful shadows in the mid-afternoon sunshine. It also isn't lost on me the way women react to him as he passes confidently through the restaurant, not stopping to look back once. God, I'm one of those women.

"What is this?" I question Anton, uncomfortable by the sheer presence of this package on our table.

"Cash" grins Anton smugly. "I had Zak pick up your payment in cash from the club, thought you'd appreciate having him as bus boy as it's obvious you fancy him" he answers grandly as I stuff the envelope into my handbag in embarrassment. I've never been paid in enormous wads of cash like this and I feel like a total brat having it sitting there on the table. Tommy doesn't look much impressed either and I catch him telling Anton in strained tones that it's certainly not preferred.

"I don't fancy him!" I squeak in protest although it's clear that not a single person at this table believes me.

Zak shifts his supercar up into 6th gear effortlessly, racing home along the back streets praying that by the time he makes it back, Ashley has gone home. But something in the pit of his stomach, intuition perhaps, told him that he would have no such luck. He was undoubtedly about to face the firing squad and anxiety made his palms clammy.

Swinging into the gated community he lived in, Zak notices Ashley's little red BMW still sitting in his driveway and slams his hands against the steering wheel in frustration. There's the answer to that, then.

He also still felt unsettled by how jolted he'd been upon setting eyes on Chloe this afternoon. He wasn't sure if it was the big black eye that pushed his buttons into protective overdrive, or how small and petite she looked in that large white t-shirt drowning her frame, but he was ready to leap into action. A smile creased his face as he thought of her stricken embarrassment at the truth behind her black eye. Honestly, only that girl could nail herself like that. So accident prone.

Parking securely in his garage, Zak locks the Ferrari before heading upstairs towards the kitchen, taking the stairs several at a time with his long legs.

"Ashley?" he calls out, hearing the hesitation in his own voice.

"Zak, where the fuck have you been?" shrieks Ashley, standing at the kitchen bench, her hands on her hips. "I wake up and you're gone?"

Zak guiltily runs a hand through his hair, trying to compose himself and fighting the urge to speak to her the way she speaks to him. "I had to go see Anton, Ash. It's a work thing" he shrugs, ignoring her and going towards the fridge to help himself to orange juice from a large, glass jug.

But Ashley has been left to stew on this for too long and snaps the fridge door closed aggressively behind him, almost catching his arm in it in the process. "Work?" she growls. "Work, you reckon do you?"

"Yes, Ashley. That's what I said. 10 points for comprehension. Work" Zak explains patiently, gulping the juice down thirstily.

"I'm giving you one more chance to explain where you were this afternoon, Zak. Is work your final answer?" spits Ashley, her blue eyes glittering dangerously, her mouth frozen in a snarl.

Confused, Zak finally looks up at her and almost doesn't recognise the girl in front of him. Was this angry, threatened shrew of a woman really the very same girl who was in his bed this morning, smiling and moaning and writhing? He shakes his head to clear the mental image of Ashley naked and responds calmly "I just told you. It. was. work". His tone is flat and bored, much like how he feels about this confrontation.

"Well does this look like work to you, Zak?" accuses Ashley, forcing the screen of her iPhone up into his face.

Confused, Zak takes the phone from her and peers curiously at the image displayed on the screen. He's presented with a photo of him taken just minutes ago at the restaurant with Chloe, leaning down to kiss her forehead, Chloe's eyes closed and her face raised towards him like a flower turning towards the sun. Taken from a deceptive angle, it made it appear as though they were leaning lovingly into each other, Chloe's eyes closed in bliss. Zak resisted the urge to laugh. The picture didn't look good from Ashley's point of view, sure, but he'd been caught in far more compromising photos before. However, someone had posted it straight to Twitter and it appeared that it was already trending.

#zakbagansnewgirlfriend

More like #zakbagansneedsmoresleep.

"Ashley, need I remind you that's the DJ from last night"

"I know exactly who she is. And you think it's ok to make a mockery of me by flaunting the fact that you're cheating on me... with... with... HER?" screams Ashley, a vein bulging in her temple. "HER! She's not even hot for fucks sake, she's enormous in comparison to me!"

This was the straw that finally broke the camel's back for Zak; he wasn't about to stand here and get yelled at when he knew he'd done nothing wrong, nor for the record had an otherwise innocent Chloe.

"Ashley, you are not my girlfriend. I am not cheating on you by talking to other girls. You're being delusional" he snarls back at her, finally making eye contact. "We. are. not. together." Ashley reacts visibly, reeling backwards as though he'd just slapped her. With her free hand, she grabs his half finished glass of orange juice and sends it flying to the floor along with the jug he poured it from, glass and liquid flying and bouncing off the stone tiles.

" . !" she screams, launching at him, her fists beating ineffectually at his chest, her voice punctuated by sobs. Zak grabs both her tiny wrists in one of his large hands and easily holds her at bay. Ashley wrestles briefly with him, sobbing and howling like a possessed cat, until finally he lets her go.

His voice softening, Zak steps away from her. "I'm sorry, Ashley. I really am. But this ends here" he says, surveying the carnage in his kitchen.

"No, I'm the one who's sorry, Zak. Sorry that I wasted my time on someone with a soul as black as yours!" cries Ashley, makeup running down her beautiful face like the Joker, as she grabs her keys and her overnight bag. "I fucking hate you!"

Zak steps out of her path as she runs past him, slamming his front door. He listens to the echo of the door and her footsteps and for just a moment, wallows in the feeling of being alone once more. Finally, he hears her car roaring up the street and away from his home. Another one bites the dust.

He was destined to be alone, of that he was absolutely sure.


End file.
